Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Chapter 153: Ch. 152: Guest of Honor

Nina still looks a little gobsmacked, but she climbs out of the carriage and extends a hand toward me before a footman can escort me down the steps. It’s a hand that represents opportunity: the chance to finally establish myself beyond the mysterious bastard princess and the promised child with no voice beyond performing miracles.

The sun is pounding down overhead, but it does little to stop the fully formed PR smile that spreads across my face. I’ve made it! I’ve left the palace. I wait for the familiar panic to ring through my chest, but perhaps due to this excursion being entirely of my choosing, I can’t find the previous fears within me.

“Your highness,” the few noble guests near the entrance of the Laroche Estate quickly curtsey in greeting.

The Laroche estate is a greying mansion, the elements turning the off-white paint a darker hue. But it does little to obscure the magnificent wealth that comes from working in the Treasury. The curling arches and delicate filigree are reminiscent of the imperial palace to a lesser degree. My eyes run over the well-trimmed hedges, shaped to perfection by gardeners who no doubt work every day to maintain its elegance. The estate is surely not the largest of all nobles in the capital, Emma has told me in confidence that there are several ones that eclipse this Laroche estate.

But for a baron? This home touches a grandeur and enjoys the kind of proximity to the imperial palace that an honest-to-goodness baron could never dream of possessing. Corruption, I think to myself as a wan smile spreads across my face. I’m looking at the product of too little oversight on a bureau that directly manages the empire’s currency, exchange rates, and major financial contracts. And I’m turning a blind eye to it.

Maria of the past would be appalled by my actions.

As custom dictates, the visit of a guest from the imperial family requires the honored noble and his or her family members to personally emerge and greet them. Baron Laroche is away working, but I can spot two light-colored dresses emerging from the home with great haste. It is the Baronness Laroche and little Elsbeth, the exertion painting itself on their cheeks in a prominent red. On poor Baronness Laroche, who already applied blush, her cheeks are nearly as red as a clown’s.

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“Your highness, you are most kind to grace our humble home with your presence,” Baronness Laroche says, opening her mouth to reveal a tongue that has clearly been schooled in flattery.

My appearance is kind of a big deal for them, not to brag or anything. It’s like when a celebrity suddenly goes to a random shop and that little store becomes the next hottest shop in the city. But this is a favor I am happy to grant to Baron Laroche, in hopes that it may inspire a little more loyalty in that dodgy little man. Not to mention, Ms. Laroche has been a diligent teacher to me all these years so doing her family a favor is the least I could do.

I can practically hear Ms. Laroche in my head: “Smile, kindly but not too kindly. Tell them to rise. Enter on the right side of the door behind the hosts. And clasp your hands, your highness! You are not a commoner to walk in such an uncouth manner!”

Thinking of my etiquette teacher turned governess makes my smile for the mother and daughter pair a slight bit more generous as I follow them into their lavish home. Nervousness seems to come from little Elsbeth in waves. I know she’d just invited me out of courtesy to the imperial family and had not expected me to actually arrive. I’ve been receiving invitations for years and never showing up so it must surely be a formality for most noble girls by now.

She clutches at the dusty yellow skirt of her puffy tea dress, her eyes flitting towards me and away from me. Elsbeth is not alone in such behavior, however. The other guests who arrived at the same time as myself linger behind us in awe, maintaining a couple’s feet distance on the carpeted rug that leads deeper into the home. They are children indeed. No matter how much training they’ve received, this sort of unexpected circumstance is not one they could’ve foreseen or prepared for.

“The princess is here? I can scarcely believe it. I don’t suppose she’s ever come to any tea party anyone has hosted before, has she?”

“She’s pretty. Mummy never told me she was pretty.”

“Pretty or not, you know what she is.”

The last voice is harsh and firm, silencing all the curious voices behind me. I smirk to myself as we emerge from the home to a backyard the size of a park, ensconced in a hedge taller than the terrifying Sir Berrick. Sweet, little white tables covered in name cards. have been erected across the lawn, with a maid diligently waiting beside each one. One especially comes to me, guiding me personally to my seat at the head table where Elsbeth is seated.

“The weather was so lovely that I arranged for us to pass our tea outside. I hope that is alright with you all,” Elsbeth says generously as everyone is seated. She has a sweet look, that little Elsbeth. Her gap teeth and wide green eyes give her the kind of honest appearance people favor in children. At the same time, her words are crisp and she has the demeanor of a well-mannered child.

“I have always preferred to take my tea outside when possible,” I say, helping her out a little. Our table has 3 other girls besides ourselves and none of them seemed keen on speaking up to back up Elsbeth.

“Of course she’s accustomed to eating outdoors,” I hear someone mutter from a table nearby. It’s the same voice I’d heard in the hallway earlier. My interest piqued, I look over my shoulder for the culprit and am not disappointed.

Leana Bryce is a face I haven’t seen for a few years, but puberty hasn’t begun to work its magic on her so she still looks very much the same. She has the same long, brown hair as the mother, although she lacks the overly ingratiating expression Lady Bryce had permanently installed on her face whenever she spoke to the empress. The girl has a haughty look on her face, one that evidently looks down on my status as a formally recognized bastard.

I don’t suppose she’s heard the news yet of her impending nuptials to my soon-to-be business partner. To think fate would be kind enough to grant me the opportunity to deliver the exciting news to the bride to be herself is enough to make me smile kindly in her direction.

The girl scoffs and rolls her eyes, her hairstyle which matches my own flying over her shoulder as she whips around to face her cronies. Her family’s rank isn’t particularly high, Lord Bryce is a viscount, however, as her mother is the empress’ right hand, her family enjoys elevated status as a result. Not that Lord Bryce appreciates his wife’s efforts as he happily raises his illegitimate heir in the countryside.

Let’s hear it for the bastards, am I right?

Light conversation floats over the tables as the first cups of tea are poured. Nina personally handles my own as a safety precaution. She draws a few stares but works diligently, not allowing emotions to creep over her face.

“Your highness,” Elsbeth says, breaking the silence of our table. “Thank you for coming to my tea party. I was delighted when I received your RSVP.”

“The pleasure is all mine. Ms. Laroche has been so diligent in her tutelage I wished to meet the rest of her family to see what you are like. Suffice to say, I have not been disappointed,” I calmly respond, taking a sip. Notes of honeysuckle and brown sugar dance across my tongue.

“Your hairstyle looks lovely, your highness,” another girl in a petal colored dress and bonnet chimes in softly. I do not recognize her, but her family’s rank must be important to be seated at the host table. Soft black ringlets encircle her cherubic, brown face, a hairstyle popularized by Julia.

“Why, thank you,” I respond. Marie was indeed right about this hairdo being the latest trend amongst noble girls. I look at her somewhat expectantly before she takes the cue to introduce herself.

She smiles pleasantly, a PR smile that denotes high familial training in etiquette and formalities. “It was rude of me not to introduce myself. My name is Antonia Bourdain. My father was Baron Bourdain and my mother is Patricia Grace.” The last sentence evokes total silence from all the conversing tables, although I take not of how she said “was” rather than “is”. Antonia lowers herself into an elegant curtsey, her gold jewelry winking prettily in the sunlight and against her deeper skintone.

“How interesting,” I murmur with the faintest of smiles, the kind that one would have difficulty interpreting the emotions behind it.

Internally, I mentally quirk up an eye brow at a name that evokes a blast from the past. Baron Bourdain is in fact the traitorous minister who played a cataclysmic role in the Erudian-Sarsavalian War that had killed thousands of citizens and given birth to the new and improved Winter. Refugees displaced by the war still trickle in to this day and nobles still host charity galas and events under the excuse of helping protect displaced citizens.

As for the traitorous noble himself? His whereabouts are unbeknownst to me, but neither hair nor hide of him has been witnessed within the entire empire in the past few years. Fascinatingly, despite his treason, the consequences of his treason did not extend to his family. I do remember hearing news of his wife, Patricia Grace, a daughter of the largest merchant family in the entire empire, gaining permission to promptly divorce him and then donate half of her vast fortune to the war effort as penance. As a result, much of the blowback did not affect the wealthy woman and her daughter, who was rumored to inherit her father’s barony in wake of his mutiny.

“I do not run away from who I am,” Antonia says, her steady gaze never wavering from my own.

She reminds me of myself, the quiet steel in her tone and her calm demeanor making her seem a few years older than the adolescent she really is. There is nothing but silence for several heartbeats, even the maids have stopped setting up the towers of colorful confections on each table.

I rub absentmindedly at my tea cup, making up my mind as I accidentally stain my lace gloves on a drop of tea that had escaped. Ms. Laroche’s harsh glare lingers in my mind as I hide my social gaffe under the table and discreetly signal to Nina to bring me another glove. A proper young lady always travels with backup.

“Indeed, Antonia Bourdain does have a better ring to it than Antonia Grace,” I chuckle, breaking the tension that had lingered. As a member of the imperial family, Ms. Laroche has drilled it into me a thousand times that my treatment of others in public spaces is a reflection of the imperial attitude towards that House or family.

Since it was the imperial will that the baron’s abandoned family would remain respected members of high society then it stood to reason that there was no need for me to treat her any differently. After all, it wasn’t as if she asked her father to betray the empire. Much like the accidental tea stain on my glove, it was a circumstance that could only be handled with grace, no pun intended.

Antonia smiles widely, her first genuine grin towards me. “In that case, it would then be my most humble honor to invite you to attend the opening of the newest opera program with me tomorrow evening.”

“This tea party has hardly started and you are already trying to lure the princess away. She is my guest of honor!” Elsbeth quipped in a good-natured manner.

Nina comes to whisper in my ear at this moment. “The imperial family already has a schedule to attend the opera tomorrow night, your highness.”

It’s the kind of news I should’ve known about days if not weeks ago.

“And why was I not informed of this earlier?” I hiss back through clenched teeth. I have a bad taste in my mouth that is not from the tea I’m drinking.

But to the others I smile generously. “As my luck would have it, my family shall be attending the opening of the opera together tomorrow. But should you send me another engagement I’d be delighted to come.”

I know the gap in information is not Nina’s doing, there are many more people who would be informed of an upcoming occasion than my head attendant. Which leads to far more frightening implications – that my chain of informants has been tampered with to the degree that I do not even know about important events in my schedule. This leaves me very little time to plan or prepare any countermeasures.

A deliberate move? I would assume so. The snake hidden in the tall grass rattles her tail, signalling to her prey that she is about to attack.

In the corner of my eye, I can see Leana smirking at our cheerful conversation and a little idea comes to mind. Because if nothing else, I ought to make sure the empress chokes while trying to swallow me whole.

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